


The East Winds Whispered Your Name

by Fireway



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, domestic gendrya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-08 10:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18892519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireway/pseuds/Fireway
Summary: Arya went west of Westeros.Now she is going back to her family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heyo she never said canonically that she would NEVER be coming back so this is totally canon it just wasnt show xoxo

The wind was particulary warm. The sails were tight, as the ship broke through the waves, the warm sunlight reflecting off the seawater and back to Arya Stark’s face.

Arya hadn’t seen the coastline of Westeros in almost thirty moons. She had been trying to keep count, although lazily; the days were long and mixed together as Arya slept when she wanted to and lost track of time on unfamiliar islands and unknown crooks of the world.

 

She had found something that never been mapped, yes – she had found things she never thought she’d see, and now she was carrying all the information she had gathered with her, under the deck in her own cabin.

 

The shoreline of Westeros came closer and closer, and Arya could hear her men barking commands at each other, as she stood on the deck, her hand resting on the pommel of Needle, relaxed and content.

As much fun had her adventures been, the closer she got to her family, the warmer her chest felt – almost tight, in a strange way. Her heart and guts had been made into million little knots that formed larger ones, but a part of her knew those knots could be opened with sure, gentle hands that would take their time.

 

It took an hour or two for the ship to reach the Lannisport. Part of Arya knew she should hate the ground she stood on as she got off the ship, but the feeling of Westeros’ ground under her feet felt welcoming. Arya was carrying a large backbag, filled with notes and books, jewellery and cloth nobody in Westeros had ever seen before.

Arya knew there was no real hurry – she had been away for moons and moons, and nobody knew when she was coming back; or if she ever was, whether it was the enchantment of the new land discovered or the stormy seas taking her to the deepest of blue, but still, Arya felt urge to leave as soon as possible.

 

Arya had not ridden in many moon after she left west and boarded her ship, so getting on the saddle felt embarrassingly clumsy – yet anyone watching just saw a grown woman of grace and wisdom, dark brown hair braided and flowing down her back, the loose grey shirt hiding the strength underneath. But yet, she was undeniably Arya Stark, the daughter of late Eddard Stark who shared the similarities of both her beauty and her personality made of the sharpest of steel with Ned’s sister who was once the start of a rebellion. Yet Arya Stark had not brought rebellion with her, but peace and spring.

Before Arya had left Westeros, she had heard what they called her; Springbringer, Slayer of the Night King and Saviour of Men. It was laughable, in a way – back then Arya only saw herself as a weapon, weapon made to protect her family, her pack. Yet now she didn’t feel like that; she was just a young woman with a tongue as sharp as her Needle – but one thing hadn’t changed, she was there for here family, she was no lone wolf but part of a pack she had left behind before.

 

Arya’s heels dug into the sides of the chestnut stallion under her as the horse started to make it’s way out of Lannisport’s streets. Arya had instructed her men already; send the ship to the next port and deliver any supplies to the smallfolk of King’s Landing, send all of her discoveries she hadn’t taken with her to King Bran the Broken and his advisors to inspect. Arya knew her name would be put in history books; as would be her sibling’s, as Sansa had become the Queen of independent North, Bran was the king and Jon had taken the black for the third time in his life – whether it was good or bad, Arya did not know.

 

Arya rode day and night the next week – she stopped in small inns, ate and slept for the night, changed her horse for a rested one and continued down the road, breathing in the Westeros air, seeing the old castles and ruins she had seen years before as she was just a little girl.

 

On the ninth evening of her travel, Arya finally reached her destination. The curtain wall rose high above her, casting a shadow in the ground painted by twilight colours. Arya hopped off her horse, taking it’s reins in her hand, her skin sweaty and hair a mess, but it’s not like she cared – or like he would care, she hoped, unless being a lord had gotten into Gendry Baratheon’s head.

 

Arya walked to the main gate, where two guards were sitting, one explaining something to the other with his hands wildly swinging through the air.

“I am here to meet Lord Baratheon.” Arya said with a clear, commanding tone – she had jotted that down commanding the men on her ship, and the tone immediately made the two guards stand up and straighten their back like their mother had just scolded them.

“And who are you to seek him out?” The other guard demanded, Arya noticing how his hand was already on the pommel – at least they were ready to guard their lord.

“Arya Stark, of North.” It made the guards look at each other, one in disbelief, one in confusion.

“… Does Lord Baratheon expect you?”

“No, Gendry doesn’t know. Would you let me in so I’d let him know?” Arya’s tone got a bit more cool now, as the men didn’t just let her pass – it reminded her of the time she got to Winterfell. It seemed there were always guards between her and here family. The men seemed to stop at Arya talking about their lord on his first name and looked at each other again like they had no idea what to do.

“We can’t just let you go to him like that. We may escort you to guest quarters and his advisor can seek you out when he has time.”

Arya knew it was the best she could get right now – being a handful would only complicate things, and getting inside the walls was enough.

Arya nodded in agreement, walking towards the guards who opened the gate.

 

Storm’s End was very different from Winterfell – in the middle there stood one single high tower, with just stables and a few tiny buildings scattered around it. Arya hoped the guest quarters the guards had mentioned was in the tower, for climbing in from the window would be a bit hard, especially if it had to be done in broad daylight.

Arya felt a surge of relief as she was guided to the tower, and they ascended a level or two of the spiralling steps until the guards showed her the corridor with multiple bedchambers, Arya stepping into one of them.

The room had a large window overlooking the sea, a bed covered in woollen covers and a simple table and a chair pushed next to the wall with a small looking glass hanging on the wall next to the strong wooden door.

 

Arya thanked the guards for escorting her and listened to the door close. Arya let her bags drop onto the floor next to the bed, plopping down on it – Arya had never been on a bed as soft, and it was just for guests; Arya couldn’t help but wonder, what were Gendry’s own quarters like – and how many girls had he taken to bed in the years Arya had been gone. She had never asked for him to wait for her, but the thought still made her eyes grow dark and chest tight.

 

The guards had instructed where Arya could wash off the “dust of travel”, that was just a kindly put “you look and smell like shit”, but she appreciated it nevertheless. Arya gathered her things and walked to the end of the hall to a guest bathroom where there stood a single bathtub. Arya looked around, yet couldn’t find warm water – she was glad when she saw a young girl, no more than ten and five walk past the hall.

“Oi, do you know where can I get warm water for a bath?” Arya immediately felt like biting her tongue – she had startled the poor girl, and her tone had grown strong and harsh with the last few years. Yet, the girl nodded and promised to come back soon with a bucket or two, apologizing for Arya since she had to wait. Arya smiled to herself – if she had been home at Winterfell, she would have known where everything was, but this was not her home, it was Gendry’s.

 

After an hour Arya had been soaking in the bath for long enough, standing up and changing her clothes to clean ones, black breeches and a long, sea-green tunic that fell loose on her hips and arms. Arya dried her hair in silence, walking to the room given to here, grey eyes catching the view of the outside that had gone dark as nightfall had come and swallowed the world in darkness; well, not the whole world, as Arya knew the days seemed to last longer and start later the more west one went.

In the darkness, Arya knew it was her time to act. She knew lords had little time to rest in the evenings, so she assumed Gendry would still be awake. Arya put on her longer overcoat made of thick dark leather and strapped Needle on her waist just in case, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. Gendry’s quarters had to be upstairs somewhere, but Arya had no idea of the halls and passages of Storm’s End and had no idea where the guards were located, so she decided to head back to the courtyard.

 

Arya could smell the familiar, comforting sea air as she walked outside, her muddy boots feeling cold and wet in her feet.

Arya could walk around mostly undisturbed, for nobody wanted to question a maid walking around with breeches and a sword - lately, those maidens had proven to be much more than giggles and flowers in their hair, like ser Brienne had proven to everyone doubting.

 

Arya checked the stables and the forge in the courtyard – no trace of Gendry, yet Arya could see his handiwork on the weapons set against walls, could almost hear the hammer hit the steel and remember Gendery working tirelessly in whatever forge he came across in his young life.

 

As Arya walked around the courtyard, she saw an open gate at the opposite wall from the main gate. Arya walked towards it and soon saw a small port and a beach underneath a steep hill. There were no guards, but Arya could see a few of them down the port, but some part of her urged her to go down the road leading to the port, the night air catching her damp hair.

 

As Arya walked closer, she could see the three guards and a few men dressed in fine clothes with a familiar figure – Gendry.

Gendry was not as tall as Arya had remembered, she thought to herself. Gendry’s hair had grown longer and his shoulders were board and strong as ever, and his clothes were made of fine leathers and cloths. Arya could hear some words from their speech – something about trade, something about Dorne, and as she walked closer, now hidden in the shadows, Arya could hear them clearer, as Gendry was instructing his men on the trade deal that was supposed to carry out as the dornish would be sailing to Storm’s End in just a few days. Arya sneaked behind a building, listening to Gendry’s voice, almost immediately a small smile tugging her lips. It took a while, but finally the guards and the men started going up the hill, yet Gendry stayed behind.

“I’ll stay here for a bit, you can go ahead and return to the castle.” It was like a sign to Arya, as she started moving out of her hiding place, moving quietly in the shadows, her fingertips touching the rough wall next to her.

Gendry was standing at the beginning of one of the docks, staring out into the eastern sea. Arya felt the knots in her stomach tighten yet didn’t feel any hesitation as she took a step out of the shadows.

“So how does one become a proper lord when you’re stupid?” Arya’s tone was teasing, yet it lacked the usual edge as seeing Gendry made them soften. Arya could see Gendry stiffen right before he turned around eyes wide and his voice dying in his throat.

“Ar-Arya.” Was all he could manage, a small smirk appearing on Arya’s face.

“That’s how you greet me? Don’t tell me you’ve become boring as well.”

Gendry seemed like he had no idea how to react – his hands rose a few times until he let them relax, coughing as he tried to get his voice back.

“Guess that’s what happen when you have to decide on boring things.” Gendry shot back, now taking a step closer. “I didn’t know you were coming back.” Gods, Arya wanted those arms around her. “When did you even get back? Someone should’ve told me.” Arya could sense the hint of disappointment in his voice.

“I just got back, a week or so ago.” Arya could now almost see the wheels turning in Gendry’s head as he counted back – nobody could make it to Storm’s End from the North in a week, let alone from the western coastline to North and to Storm’s End. There was a short silence, as Gendry seemed to take it in, but then he opened his arms slightly, in a way almost offering her a hug, not coming too close.

Arya couldn’t help but absolutely leap towards him, closing the short distance between them. Arya’s arms were soon around Gendry’s neck as she laughed freely, Gendry’s arms around her as he embraced here like he hadn’t done in years. Gendry’s soft laughter was music to Arya’s ears, as he spun her around on the deck.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” She could hear Gendry say right before he let her go, putting some distance between them. Arya’s eyes were twinkling with happiness, but the blue eyes she was looking into were mixed with surprise and confusion, happiness and something that reminded Arya of fear – not the kind of fear an animal gets when it realizes it is prey or the fear of a man dying, but something emotional. Arya wondered if Gendry was thinking back to the years when she had rejected him after she had rejected herself any feelings towards anyone as long as her list was incomplete.

“Do you have time? I think we should talk. A lot has changed, clearly.” Arya offered him, her tone now a bit more gentle, as she let her hands drop to her sides, eyebrows rising a bit.

“I – Of course, yes. Have you eaten?”

“No, not yet.”

“We can go have some dinner when we get back to the castle. If you feel like it.”

Arya nodded and with that, she followed Gendry’s steps up the hill and to the courtyard. Arya was now getting even more looks than earlier, as she walked freely with the lord of the castle.

 

Gendry walked a level up from the guest quarters, arriving to the Storm’s End’s Great hall. It was decorated with Baratheon banners and long tables on either side, Gendry asking a servant girl to prepare his meal. Arya couldn’t help but look at Gendry with adoring eyes; even as a lord, he was gentle and humble, didn’t let the title get to his head. As the girl was off, Gendry sat down on the nearest table, Arya sitting on the opposite side of the table, eyes jumping from the stone walls to the yellow banners and then back to Gendry.

“So – where have you been? It’s been … More than two years, I recall.” Gendry spoke first, making Arya grin in triumphant.

“West of Westeros. Short story goes I found land, and people, and returned victorious.”

“Really? So there is more?”

“There sure is.”

“And when will I hear the longer version?“ Gendry half-joked, his blue eyes melting as they got into the comfortable rhythm they had perfected years ago.

“I’ll tell it to you at some point. Unless you can read now, there will also be a book about it that is given to all lords and ladies of Westeros.” Arya said, seeing the smile form on Gendry’s lips.

“I can read, thank you very much.” Gendry said, faking annoyance, but then there was that lovely, husky bark of laughter.

“That’s great, really. So you’ve settled for being a lord? It seems like you are good at it.”

“Well, you are probably the first one to think that. But yes, I’ve … Settled.”

Arya felt a twinge of jealousy rising in her chest, yet her voice didn’t betray her as it was as light as ever.

“Settled? As in settled down, got a nice ladywife on your arm?” Gendry seemed to freeze at that for a moment, but then he shook his head.

“Oh? But there are probably offers of pretty daughters of every great house?”

“There’s no one.” Gendry’s tone made it sure Arya knew not to ask anything more of that. Arya bit her lip but then continued.

“How is it otherwise? You like Stormlands?”

“Well, they are a bit stormy at times.” Arya chuckled at that, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

“Hardy-har. And North is cold.”

“I know, I’ve been there.” Gendry shot back, which made Arya pause before asking, brows rising again.

“You’ve been there? When? Do you know how’s Sansa?”

Gendry stared at Arya with dark, confused eyes before answering.

“She is fine, North is better than it has been in thousands of years, she is very good diplomat, to be honest. You haven’t visited her?”

“… No. Told you, got here a week ago, I didn’t have time to stop by for a bowl of soup and childhood memories.” Arya answered, her eyes focusing on the look on his face as he, again, tried to put the pieces and timelines together.

“Why did you come here first?” Gendry finally asked, his voice lower and clearly more timid now.

“Isn’t it obvious --” Arya started, but then the door creaked as someone entered the hall. Arya turned to face the visitor, meeting Davos’ eyes, which were almost as surprised as Gendry’s had been when he recognized Arya.

 “Arya? Seven hells, where did you come from?”

“Funny, I get that often.” Arya cracked a joke, grinning as Davos moved to sit next to her, immediately starting to ask about her journeys and how the sea treated her, as Arya could feel Gendry’s eyes on her every second of the conversation as his advisor essentially interrogated Arya.

 

* * *

 

 

After Gendry, Davos and Arya had eaten, Davos quickly excused himself. Arya and Gendry were left sitting alone together, Arya starting to stand up from the table, Gendry following him quickly behind.

“I should probably let you go to sleep.” Arya mused, as she straightened her top, noticing ho Gendry had stopped moving, his blue eyes still on her.

“If you don’t mind, we could keep talking? I’d lo – like to hear your stories.” Gendry’s voice almost completely masked out his mistake, almost as if the word love had been somehow bad; Arya wondered if it was because the last time he said it to her, she had left. Arya didn’t dwell on her thoughts for too long, as she nodded quickly.

“Sounds good to me.”

 

Arya and Gendry made their way up the levels of the castle, finally stopping at the large door. Arya first thought it would be Gendry’s chambers, but it ended up being a small library. Arya walked in, twirling slowly around a few times as she looked at all the books Gendry had managed to get his hands on – or former Baratheons before him. Gendry walked to a table in the middle and lit a candle, opening a large book. As Arya walked closer to the book, she could see it was a book filled with maps, older and newer. Gendry was sitting at the edge of the table, looking up to her under his dark brows.

“This is the only book I have, but… Thought it could help, maybe.” Gendry offered, Arya looking back at him and nodded, trying to find a book that would showcase the known world in the year the book was made.

 

Arya had no idea, how did she end up under Gendry, the small of her back pressed against the table’s edge and his hands roaming over her skin that kept growing hotter, her fingers buried in his hair as they kissed.

It had started like it had before – playful teasing turned into flirting, and as the night went on and their jokes got raunchier and raunchier, suddenly Arya had realized she was kissing Gendry, and he was kissing back and oh, how wonderful his hands felt on her skin, how strong his arms were as he had pushed her up to sit on the table. Arya moaned against his lips, losing herself to him, the books pushed off the table as he kept kissing down her collarbone and tugging her shirt up and up ---

 

Arya hadn’t felt that content in years. They had ended up sneaking up to Gendry’s bedchambers, and as the morning sun shone through the window, Arya felt peaceful. Gendry’s arm was around her shoulders, her fingertips playing and drawing small patterns between the scars that littered his skin like hers did her own. They hadn’t spoken in a while, just laying down under the cover and enjoying each other’s company – but also avoiding talking about what had happened.

Finally, Gendry opened his mouth, his fingers lazily moving up and down on Arya’s arm, her eyelids closed as Gendry’s lips were pushed against her hair.

“You grew your hair out.”

“Mm-hmm.” Arya could just mumble, smiling softly as she looked up at him for a second. “So did you.”

The silence seemed to become heavier, so Gendry sat up carefully, leaning against the bedframe.

“Arry, please. Before I think this is anything more, what was… All this?” Gendry asked, voice heavy and unsure.

Arya looked up to him, now sitting down properly, partly on her knees, wrapping the cover around her bare torso.

“Earlier, you said there was no one. No ladies or wives, I mean.” Arya started, biting her lip, her nervousness rising up the grey eyes.

“… And there isn’t.” Gendry confirmed, fiddling with the wool between his fingers.

“Remember what I told you back in Winterfell? Back before the battle of King’s Landing?”

“That you thought my axe wasn’t made strong enough.” Gendry mumbled, refusing to look up to her. Arya sighed.

“No, stupid. After you proposed.” The word made Gendry’s brows furrowed, as he seemed to grow more distant.

“I’m sorry about that, I really am. I was… Too hopeful and naïve, I guess.”

“I’m not asking for an apology. What did I say?”

“That you wouldn’t ever be a lady?” Gendry offered, now Arya putting her hand on his cheek, trying to make him look at her.

“Correct.” Arya muttered, her grey eyes catching the blue ones. “I won’t be lady. Not the kind lords want, with pretty gowns and nothing in life but being a wife or a mother.” Gendry looked worried, even sad with her words.

“I remember, and I --”

“But I had plenty of time on the sea. Did you want me to become that kind of lady? A pretty accessory to have on your arm?”

“Of course not, I just wanted you once I was … Worth of it, title-wise.“ Gendry argued, sounding actually annoyed now, his blue eyes darkening.

“That’s what I thought. I couldn’t see it years ago. But, like I said, I had time to think.” Arya started, letting her hand slip behind his neck, tracing a circle on the skin. “You aren’t the most conventional lord. And I’ll never be the most conventional lady. And … These past two years, all I’ve been wondering is how you are doing, what is your life like – are you bedding a new maid every night or planning your wedding to someone. And I tried to forget, I really tried.” Gendry couldn’t get a word out of his mouth, as if he couldn’t believe a word Arya was saying, or even that Arya was actually there – it made Arya wonder briefly if Gendry had seen dreams about her, like she had dreamed of her. “And I tried to find comfort from the arms of any man or woman who … Had something in them, whether it was blue eyes or black hair or kind heart. But nothing. There was never anyone like you.” Arya confessed, her voice sure – she had been planning her words for too many moons now to mess it up on the moment of truth.

“That’s why I didn’t ride North to Sansa or Jon first. I wanted to get here first, just in case it would be too late if I arrived a day too late and you had fallen for someone new. It’s not like I asked you to wait, we barely changed a word.” Arya continued, now her voice almost getting choked up. As soon as Gendry could hear Arya’s voice falter, his hands were on her again, comforting and gentle, as if on an instinct. Arya felt Gendry’s forehead pressing against her own, as he was quiet for a moment, as was Arya.

“… Thank you. Thank you for telling me this.” Gendry murmured, yet his voice was still unsure, as if he was awaiting for another refusal of love.

“Do you remember, what I asked you when we were just kids? When you told me you’d stay with the Brotherhood?” Arya asked, opening her eyes, seeing Genedry’s still closed.

“You asked me to be your family.”

“And you told me I’d be your lady, not your family.”

Gendry didn’t answer to that, as he just seemed tense, timid of Arya’s next words.

“I understand if you don’t want me anymore, if you’ve grown out of me. But all I want to know is, does that offer still stand?” Arya saw Gendry’s eyes open as soon as those words left her lips, his eyes looking at hers in disbelief. “I won’t be the conventional lady, but if marrying you is enough to be your lady and you don’t ask me to be something I am not, I’d like that. I’d like to be your family.” Arya was sure Gendry’s mouth would have fallen open if he hadn’t been so tense overall, but as Gendry understood what Arya had just suggested, he lifted his hands to hold Arya’s cheeks.

“You mean that? You’d marry me?” Gendry was choked up, his voice barely more than a whisper, a slow, wide smile appearing on his smile.

“If you’d still have me.”

“You keep calling me stupid, as if you just didn’t ask the stupidest question yourself. Of course, Arya. Of course.” His words were rushed, mixed with laughter that made Arya’s chest bloom, as did the kiss he gave her right after, holding her close. “Nothing would make me happier.” Gendry murmured against her lips, making Arya smile against them as well – this, this was where she was supposed to be. With her family.


	2. Lord of Storm's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Gendry after he was made the Lord of Storm's End - mostly my own headcanons and Gendrya fluff in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one:  
> Literally not a soul:  
> Me: So what if I add a chapter to my very much oneshot fic?

* * *

 

**1 Moon after the Council Meeting : The Bastard Lord of Storm’s End**

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry couldn’t sleep. The castle was big and quiet and _his_. The thought made Gendry nervous – he had gotten used to owning only the clothes on his back and his hammer, sleeping in crammed spaces and cheap inns, with people constantly around. He was not made for places like Storm’s End. There were many things Gendry would have gladly called his, but a castle was not one of those, even if as a little boy, a motherless bastard, he would often humour himself and imagine having a castle, how he had all the steel in all of Westeros and the strongest of stallions, sleeping on a featherbed with clothes of expensive silks and leathers.

 

Gendry had only arrived to the Storm’s End four days prior; he was welcomed with warmth and understanding, the oldest of Stormfolk going on and on how he looked just like Robert had when he was younger, riding into rebellion for love.

 _Love for someone who didn’t love him back_ , Gendry had thought bitterly. How fitting it was, really; a lord of Storm’s End with blue eyes and a void filling his heart and hands aching to hold his love once more, yet sleeping in his chamber alone and angry, wanting to have his revenge on someone, _anyone_.

 

The new Lord of Storm’s End sat up and lifted his boots off the floor along with the wool blanket on his bed. Gendry made his way down the tower and to the chilly spring air, making his way to the forge, laying down in the back of the storage on top of a sack of something he probably should have kept count on so his people wouldn’t rebel, and lulled to nightmare-filled dreams only to be woken up by the first blacksmith staring his day the next morning.

 

* * *

 

**3 Moons after the Council Meeting: The Illiterate Lord of Stormlands**

 

* * *

 

 

“Gr-Grei- _No_ , Grai..n? Grain supply?”

“Good job, my Lord. You see the _“a”_ resembles the sound _“ei”_ when spoken.” The old maester’s voice was encouraging, as he was sitting on the other side of the table. Gendry was glad the maester of Storm’s End was a patient man – otherwise Gendry would have chucked the book in front of him at the man multiple times already. Gendry was trying to keep count of the supplies delivered to the castle the best he could whenever he got a raven, but some words were still tricky and sometimes Gendry was sure the person who had written to him had just invented new letters to mess with him. The maester would always tell him no, it was indeed a letter, but Gendry wasn’t too sure.

 

Thankfully Gendry knew more or less personally everyone who wrote to him. He knew the council of King Bran the Broken always used simpler words for his letters even if it was the maester explaining them to him. He also knew whenever Sansa wrote to him, she made sure her letters were clear and far apart. He had hardly heard of Jon, but Gendry had heard he became the King Beyond the Wall – the Starks really seemed to seek out power and thrones.

Well, expect for one. Gendry’s eyes jumped to the corner of the book, reading the date; it had already been almost five moons since she left. Gendry still remembered it clear as day, as he had written to Sansa one moon after the council meeting and jokingly asked if Arya’s songs were sung in the North so loudly that even the smallfolk in Stormlands knew them. And when Sansa answered that they sung no songs for the Daughter of Winterfell who took sail until if she returned, it was as if Gendry had been in the north all over again, his blood turning to ice and blue eyes filling with the darkness brought by the Night King, the one his love had slain.

From then on, the songs dedicated to the Starks and the She-Wolf who brought the Spring were sung even louder in the halls of Stormlands. Gendry wouldn’t let Arya be forgotten.

 

* * *

 

**6 Moons after the Council Meeting: The Kind Lord of Storm’s End**

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry rubbed his temples, trying to find a loophole in his book. When Gendry first became a lord – though unwillingly – he made sure everyone got bread. He had lived too many night as a child with hunger in his belly to make anyone under his command go through the same. Every family was given their portion of grain and salt to use, so even the poorest folk could make bread. Whenever Gendry could spare any extra, he made the portions include something else as well, like sugar or goatmilk.

But now, thanks to the oh-so-great Bronn, the Lord of Highgarden, the grain traded to Storm’s End was running low and Gendry wasn’t sure how could he get the portion given to the people.

 

Gendry was deep in his thought when Davos walked in – he spent around a week of every moon helping Gendry to adjust and gave him advice; Davos had seen Gendry on his lowest moments as a lord as well, so he recognized the young lord’s tense shoulders and furrowed brows.

“What is it, lad? Another proposal?” Gendry looked up to Davos surprised and offered him a tense smile.

“No, counting the portions for this week. The grain we got from Highgarden isn’t enough.” Gendry leaned back in his high-backed chair and closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if he should go ask the maester medicine for his head.

“Aye, heard that Lord Bronn let half his crops burn down. The Highgarden’s smallfolk isn’t happy.”

“I’m not, either. Gods, if I had taken the deal with the dornish last month…”

“You aren’t a failure, you couldn’t have known.”

“The people don’t know that, they only know they didn’t get what I promised them. I want them to trust me.” Gendry’s voice was weak, almost desperate, as Davos put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“We will figure it out, alright? Is there anything you can use instead of grain?”

“… Oh. Wait, I might know what to do…”

Gendry sure knew he wasn’t meant for lordship nor did he want to do the decision he was made to do, but the next time the proportions came to the smallfolk, they knew they got lucky having a former Flea Bottom-bastard as their lord, who knew how to make use of about anything at hand.

 

* * *

 

**8 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Lonely Lord of Storm’s End**

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry’s knees felt weak as he stumbled down the stairs. He needed to get some fresh air, as soon as possible.

The taste of sweet wine from the west was mixed with the ale and he could still feel his skin burning hot wherever Gwyndeth Buckwell’s hands had lingered a bit too long.

As a Lord of Storm’s End, Gendry had to ride around Stormlands to visit other houses and attend their feasts, hunting trips and any other events that seemed important enough. Of course, often Gendry would host a feast for other houses and their families as well.

Wherever Gendry went, was it the great hall of Storm’s End or a visitation, if there was a girl of marriable age, they immediately would greet Gendry with smiles and flirtatious, lingering touches and sat as close to him as they could. Gendry knew their lord fathers or lady mothers had told them to do so, for Gendry was young and a high lord, a veteran of the Battle of Winterfell and strong like his father had been – and most importantly, unmarried.

Sometimes Gendry had too much ale and the flirtation got a bit too much and he would later find himself kissing down a young lady’s neck, his hands wandering as his lust seemed to take over.

But always, there was something wrong. The girls always had that little something that bothered him; whether it was that their hands were a bit too soft or their eyes too dark, darkened even more with want, hair too long and loose, Gendry always felt himself grow tired, feeling guilty as he pulled back and apologized to the girl, sending them back to the feast or whatever was supposed to be happening. And always, Gendry felt guilty for letting his wants get the best of him and sent the house back to their home later with extra casks of good wine or ale or promises of horses or grain, whatever he had to offer.

Gwyndeth Buckwell had been playing dirty – or probably her lady mother, for the rumours of the Lonely Lord of Storm’s End were spreading and some were already putting two together. Gwyndeth’s black hair had been chopped to reach just a bit over her shoulders, the hair slicked back and blue eyes capturing Gendry’s as she danced in the middle of the courtyard with her younger brother after a successful hunting trip lord Buckwell had gone with Gendry.

Gendry had only come to his senses when he was on top of the girl a few years younger than him, as her fingertips brushed against Gendry’s abdomen. Gendry had jumped off of her like he had just gotten struck by a lightning, eyes wide and wild, as he apologized again and again. Gwyndeth had been telling him how it was alright, moving her shoulder so it was almost as an accident as her robe revealed more skin than necessary. Gendry had just been able to swallow, hard, averting his eyes.

“I’m truly sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He had muttered, alcohol making his tongue feel heavy as he slurred out his words. She had tasted so sweet, her hair had been so soft between his fingers – yet she was not the one Gendry wanted it to be. Not even the strongest of ales had numbed his mind enough.

Part of Gendry still wanted to continue, and was quite insistent on it – yet Gendry reminded himself he would not father any bastards. And a ladywife was not what he needed to have right now, he had his hands too full either way. Or, well, that was what he kept telling himself and Davos, who would occasionally bring up him still holding onto the hope of the return of a ship from the West.

Gendry didn’t want to have a family he had gotten accidentally just because of his drunken recklessness.

 

As Gendry finally reached the door outside, he breathed in a lungful of summer air. He felt more restless than ever, blue eyes looking on to the tavern where people were still drinking and dancing.

 

Gendry didn’t quite register where his feet were taking him in his drunken haze, until he sat down to the end of the deck. The sea was surprisingly calm and Gendry somewhere on the other side of it there was Essos. Gendry wondered what it was like; he had only heard stories from the Dothraki who remained in King’s Landing, a few memories he had been able to get out of Arya.

Her name still stung. Gendry took off his boots, letting his feet rest in the salty sea water as he stared at the dark sea. Somewhere, Arya was on the same waters – well, unless she had found land.

When Gendry had gotten the news of Arya leaving, he had actually considered taking one of the ships and sailing to West as well; no distance was too far when it was Arya on the other end. But Davos had pulled him back, told him he had already become a lord; he couldn’t abandon his people now, when all of Westeros was still rebuilding itself. So Gendry had stayed, in the cold castle they had told him was his, sleeping in his bed alone as lords and ladies tried to figure out what was it that the unmarried Lord Gendry wanted from a lady. What they didn’t know, there was nobody who would come even close to what he had already lost.

 

* * *

 

**12 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Lord of Steel and Ash**

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry felt the most like himself when he hit the steel. It was still singing it’s sweet songs to him, but it felt dull, almost useless. Gendry had his own forge, his own blacksmiths who would forge him anything he wanted. Still, whenever Gendry had free time, he would visit the forge and do something of his own. At least, that was still allowed of him.

 

Although everyone in Stormlands knew Gendry was a former blacksmith, and a good one as well, they were dubious when Gendry went to work in the forge for the first time. As Gendry had started, one of the blacksmiths had told him how he could hurt himself, how there were million places in the forge where Gendry could burn himself.

It had made Gendry angry; he never wanted to be a lord and once he was made one, they forced him to forget his past. So that evening Gendry forged a sword of fine steel and beautiful, decorated arrowheads as the blacksmiths were giving him the side-eye.

And then, when Gendry stopped, he was covered in dirt and sweat and finally felt like himself again.

 

Now, after a year of Gendry becoming a lord, he was often seen at the forge and nobody would bat an eye – well, maybe some lords who didn’t know him, but who really cared about them – and Gendry could focus on remembering where he came from.

 

* * *

 

**14 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Unwilling Lord of Storm’s End**

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m not doing this shit anymore, ya hear me? I’m not.” Gendry’s voice was harsh and angry, his knuckles turned white as he held onto the railing on one of the tiny balconies of the castle. His eyes were focused to the sea, blue irises turned as stormy and treacherous as the water beneath.

“Be smart about this, Gendry. I know you don’t want to make the decision --” Davos was cut off by Gendry whirling around, teeth bared even if he tried to contain his anger for he did not want to anger Davos, the only father figure Gendry had ever had.

“Then why the _fuck_ did you make me stay? I told you, I don’t want to call these shots.” The fury seemed to crack with the word stay – indeed, Gendry never wanted to stay, he had wanted to sail away with Arya. But no, Davos had told him he was the last living Baratheon, and since Gendry had already told that to people, he might as well carry his cross and be the Baratheon he was born to be, the heir of a Great House.

It suffocated Gendry at first; he knew there were many others who would be more fit for the role, yet because his mother was bedded by his father once, now he had to worry about castles and grounds. It felt unfair; he wanted to run away yet was too proud to leave after a whole year. And on the other hand, he was getting better every day, picking the right fork for right kind of meat and reading the letters he got with ease.

“Because you deserve this. You’re the most just lord these lands have seen in generations. You were one of the smallfolk, so you understand the daily struggles.” Davos explained to Gendry for the thousandth time, face annoyed but voice still understanding and calm.

Gendry knew Davos was right, but it didn’t do much to soothe the bitterness in his mouth everytime he had to answer to “my lord” or had to listen to the other lords laugh at smallfolk.

 

Gendry let go of the railing and walked back inside, where Davos pulled a chair for him.

“Now, if the prince of Dorne wants to bargain, let’s give him just that.”

 

* * *

 

**20 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Lord of Many Tragecies**

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry woke up in cold sweat. The room around him was spinning and the chilly air coming in from the window made him shiver. Yet, his skin felt like he was burning, again and again and again with the blue fire from an undead dragon. Gendry’s heart was hammering away in his chest, as Gendry reached for something real, something he knew. His fingers hit the bedside table and connected with the book that was dangling on the edge, sending it down with a small thud.

Gendry took a few deep breaths, before he bent down to get the fallen book an put it back to it’s spot on his bedside table. He felt restless, so after sitting up for a while Gendry stood up, walking to the window, rubbing his arm; there was a scar, and Gendry had no idea where had gotten it, but picking on the uneven skin made him feel a bit more calm.

Gendry leaned against the side of the window, eyes dark from sleep looking on to the sea; there was a storm. It was nothing special, really, yet Gendry stood there, watching the lightning flash and illuminate his chamber and the trees near the shoreline bend as wind tried to make them snap.

Gendry had had nightmares ever since he was a child; he remembered the fear as the goldcloaks were looking for him from his master’s shop, remembered running away from an angry dog down the alley in Flea Bottom. He remembered watching his friend get killed, sword put through his neck. He remembered the roaring flames, the small body hurling towards the man who held a bloodied sword, only to find his own arms around the girl so she wouldn’t get herself killed. He remembered being sold out, again, the fear as the red priestess put leeches on his skin. He remembered his arms getting tired, lost at sea as he had been rowing for hours without much of a pause, in fear of people coming after his blood. He remembered the fear as he ran through the northern forest, wall so far away he was sure his feet would give in before he would reach the base of it.

Gendry remembered his nightmare from earlier; the dragon breathing blue fire around him, the dead swarming the castle he once had wished he could have called home. He remembered the dead falling down, as the battle was over and finding a single broken spear from a pile of rubble, getting his hands full of cuts and blood as he searched for a small body of a friend long lost. He didn’t dare to call her name then, for he was afraid there would be no answer.

Gendry didn’t quite catch his thought wandering, until he realized he had hit a sore spot more than once; Arya. He wondered, if there was a storm in the west too, if the winds were making the ship uneven, if Arya was sleeping in her cabin. Gendry tried to imagine the ship Arya had; he had heard that it had a huge Direwolf head, something nobody had seen before; the Starks of older generations hadn’t been that fond of the sea. Gendry tried to imagine the ship, the stormy sea attacking it’s sides. He tried to imagine Arya on the deck, shouting commands to her men, when his heart stopped and then felt like it was being ripped away from his chest, piece by piece. Gendry tried to picture Arya’s face in his mind, but it didn’t seem quite right – he knew she had dark hair and grey eyes, but as he tried to picture her, his memory started playing tricks on him. Had she had round cheeks, or did her cheekbones stick out? She had her hair chopped up once, but when Gendry tried to remember how it was running his hand through Arya’s hair, was it on a bun? Or maybe a braid? He knew it was somehow tied up, or at least part of it was, but couldn’t quite piece together, how.

And at that moment, Gendry felt like he had lost something important, like a child who forgot their favourite toy to the market or a wife losing her ring from her late husband while doing something ordinary. Gendry hadn’t been trying to not think of Arya, nor had he been actively seeking out memories – Arya came and went in his head, as free as she had always been. But until now, Gendry hadn’t realizes as the moons went by, her face, her voice, her laughter started to fade away, and the harder Gendry tried to remember, the more wrong everything felt. As Gendry slowly sunk down to his bed, his whole body tired and eyes silently weeping for the love lost, he could hardly remember how her eyes had looked when he told her he loved her. Gendry knew she had been beautiful; but now the last parts of her had been taken away, just like she had sailed away without a goodbye, just like her memory.

 

* * *

 

**25 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Son of Storm’s End**

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry’s back was absolutely killing him. He had been on horseback for weeks, riding around the Six Kingdoms as he needed to renew some of his trade deals and Davos kept insisting it was the best for him to do it face to face, especially now that Westeros was starting to properly heal from the battles that had wounded it deep into it’s core. A lot of houses in the North and Crownlands had lost their children and lords to the battles, but new alliances and marriages were formed and lands of houses that would only be a memory after a few generations were given to rising families – which of course had ended up with a few clashes of the houses that Gendry had to settle as the heir of the house Baratheon.

Gendry had been gaining popularity amongst the houses and smallfolk of Stormlands slowly, but now it seemed that after he had shown his claws in settling matters of houses and being the leader of a great house, he had gained the respect of the rest of the folks who had still been loyal to Stannis or thought a bastard would never rule over them.

Of course, gaining respect also meant more work for him. Gendry was now supposed to go down to every damn wedding and nameday party and listen to all the long speeches, the praises of Bran the Broken and make his way through political conversations as smoothly as he could, sometimes even suggesting that maybe, just maybe, even the smallfolk people sometimes wanted to make their own choices and maybe deserved to live their lives as their lords did on their expense. This, of course, was always ruled as a young lord’s daydreams, but it made Gendry’s blood boil – yet he kept his composure, something he had learned the hard way after he almost broke the nose of Connington’s elderly lord.

 

* * *

 

**31 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Stag of Stormlands and a Lone Direwolf**

 

* * *

 

 

The sea wind felt cold against Gendry’s skin as the sun had set some hours ago and made the whole world somewhat quieter, colder as winter’s eve. Gendry stood on the dock, back turned towards the sea, two of his close men, ser Brydan of the Antlers and Jaesse Tallhearth, standing in front of him, as they tried to settle a plan for the dornish that would be sailing to Storm’s End in just a few days. Gendry would be hosting the dornishmen for at least two weeks, entertain and throw feasts for them until they would come to an agreement on their trades for the next ten or so moons. Gendry could already guess they would somehow rope in that he had to promise to go to the ball held for the baby Princess of Dorne’s first nameday coming up in two moons, but he didn’t worry about it too much – a little bit of sun wouldn’t hurt him.

Finally, Brydan and Jaesse settled on the timetable for the week after the dornish would arrive, and Gendry sent them to the maester of Storm’s End to inform the people of Stormlands of their quests from the south.

Gendry dismissed his guards who had been tailing him ever since he had gotten back from his hunting trip earlier, as some stupid squire had suspected that the meat Gendry had had during the day had gone bad and now his guards seemed to be set that their lord would just drop dead if they left him alone. Thankfully, as the evening was drawing to an end and night sky was draping itself over the starry sky of Storm’s End, the guards started walking up the hill back to the castle.

As the guards left and Gendry was finally left alone, he turned to see the sea behind him. It would be a calm night, he thought, as the water was still, only occasional lazy waves hitting the docks.

“So how does one become a proper lord when you’re stupid?”

The voice made Gendry stop for a second, his heart jumping to his throat. He couldn’t believe it, he was sure it was Arya’s voice – one he was sure he had forgotten. The way she said stupid, the teasing edge in her tone…

Gendry was sure he was imagining it – maybe the meat had gone bad after all and Death was letting him hear Arya in his dying moments.

Too bad Gendry knew that wasn’t the case, really, for he knew death had no such poetic skills, as it only took people without much of a warning nor a scene from a play.

Gendry turned around, feeling like he was going to stumble at his own feet as the movement was rushed, almost panicked – he needed to know if he had just heard right, if he really had recognized that voice.

And gods, Arya was beautiful. Gendry’s voice caught in his throat, both from his surprise and the fact that it almost felt like a puzzle piece head been put into its place as Arya was standing there, illuminated by the moonlight.

Gendry’s heart was racing – when did she return, was she even real? He wanted to reach out to here, touch the hair that was longer than he remembered, see if she tasted the same as years ago.

“Ar-Arya.” It was pathetic, really, Gendry cursed himself. But Arya had caught him by surprise, looking like everything he had lost and nothing he had tried to tell himself he wanted to forget, feeling how his bitterness melted away like the snow had when the spring came.

“That’s how you greet me? Don’t tell me you’ve become boring as well.” Arya’s smirk made Gendry heart jump again, as it was now beating faster than it had in so many moons – a successful kill in the forest could make his heart jump, as did the clash of swords a bit too close, reminding Gendry of times where those swords could’ve been trying to hit him, but nothing felt quite like Arya cracking a joke like she used to, a smile playing on her lips.

Gendry wanted to reach out to here, feel she was real, that she was here, but stopped himself – he had been burned before. Gendry coughed silently against the back of his hand, before speaking, joking tone in colouring his voice.

“Guess that’s what happens when you have to decide on boring things.” Gendry couldn’t help himself anymore – he had to get a bit closer, closing the distance between them with a small step. “I didn’t know you were coming back _.” Why did you ever leave? Without me?_ Yet Gendry didn’t give a voice to the thoughts rumbling in his head. “When did you even get back?” It was big that the daughter of Winterfell had sailed west – and Gendry was a great lord, so his maester or someone should have told him.

Small part of Gendry wondered if his people didn’t tell him because they knew Gendry and Arya had a past – yet almost nobody knew what kind of a past, even though there were rumours traveling the taverns and hallways of Stormlands.

“I just got back, a week or so ago.” Arya’s answer made Gendry’s thinking process stop completely for a second, before he realized what Arya had just said.

Nobody could get to Storm’s End in a week from the North, leave alone from the western coast to the North and then to Stormlands. One could hardly ride from West to East in a week. And with that thought, it hit Gendry; did Arya come to him first? Gendry knew she wouldn’t lie to him.

 

Gendry wondered, if it was really true; or maybe she had sailed around the sea and ended up in Essos or maybe even in the eastern coast of Westeros, but it still didn’t mean she could go North and back in a week. As Gendry processed through that, finally he let his guard drop a little, as his heart swelled in his chest.

Gendry opened his arms slightly, almost as an invitation; he was ready for rejection, the movement of his hands small enough he could hide it if Arya didn’t want to get closer. But no, his fears weren’t necessary, as Arya moved towards him and soon he could feel her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Gendry couldn’t help himself but wrap his arms around the woman he had lost twice before, and even if they both had taken the long road, they always seemed to end up on each other’s arms. Gendry felt a free, soft laugh escape his lips as he lifted Arya a little bit off the ground, spinning her around in almost child-like joy. Even if she had rejected him as a lover, she still was the best friend Gendry had ever had and he was so, so glad to have her back. Yet, with that thought he remembered the ice in his veins as she had rejected him; he didn’t blame her, for he had been drunk and naïve and in love.  

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Gendry murmured as he put Arya down, almost keeping her at arm’s length now that he remembered the hurt again, even if inside him he was overjoyed of Arya’s return, was it just as a traveller going through his lands, as a friend or as something more Gendry didn’t dare to dream of.

  
“Do you have time? I think we should talk. A lot had changed, clearly.” Arya said, Gendry’s eyes following her arms dropping to her sides, the teasing tone in her voice gone, yet a different kind of softness taking it’s place.  

“I --- Of course, yes. Have you eaten?” It was all Gendry could muster – he wanted to talk, he wanted to ask where she had been, what had she seen, but even more, he wanted to get answeres to the questions clawing his chest.

“No, not yet.”

“We can go have some dinner when we get back to the castle. If you feel like it.” Gendry was suddenly aware, how used to the idea of his own castle he had gotten, yet presenting it to Arya felt pompous, almost embarrassing as if he was just trying to win her over with his power or wealth, even though he was sure Arya still craved her own space, moving and making decisions on her own instead of Gendry just telling her what to do.

So as Arya agreed to go eat, they started walking up the hill towards the castle on top of it, Gendry’s brain a mush of mixed feelings and thoughts, almost stumbling as much as his feet seemed to.

 

* * *

 

**33 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Lord Who Smiled Again**

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry had never been a dancer. He had spun a few girls around during feasts and in the ball in King’s Landing, but he had never been one to really enjoy it.

Until now.

Arya was holding onto his arms, laughing wildly as they danced on the wooden floor of Storm’s End’s great hall, the other people and dancers stomping rhythm with their feet and the strings playing fast-paced song Gendry knew was from the North.

 

After Arya had gotten back, she had soon gone to North to meet up with Jon and Sansa – on her way she went to the citadel and stopped in King’s Landing to deliver any extra notes she still had from west, but most importantly she carried a message with her; an invitation to a wedding.

The ceremony hadn’t been anything big, for neither Gendry or Arya wanted anything grand. They had gotten married on the beach of Storm’s End, surrounded by the sparse trees. Sansa and Jon had been standing side by side in the treeline after they both had given Arya away – like Ned would have if he was still with them. Alongside them there were Davos and a few others who were deemed important enough to share their moment; Gendry did not want any big lords or ladies to fuss in their wedding and make it into a big scene.

And as the sun shone down on them, Arya looking up to him with lily-of-the-valleys and spider flowers woven into her loose braid by Sansa, Gendry had pressed a short, sweet kiss on her lips. And by that finally, _finally_ being part of her family with more than just promises and hopeful questions, but with a ring he had made her, small details with both the teeth of a direwolf and the antlers of a stag and a cloak of both yellow and grey, as it wasn’t just him taking her under his protection, but her doing the same to him as well.

 

Even though the ceremony itself had been very small and private, just for the two of them, the feast afterwards was a lot bigger; everyone in Storm’s End was gathered in the hall, as were the lords and ladies of Stormland houses and even some from the North celebrating their new Storm’s Lord and Lady with ale and dancing, and Gendry didn’t even mind how people looked at him, whispering as he murmured _I love you’s_ into Arya’s ear as the dance got slower. Gendry couldn’t wipe the stupid smile from his face, eyes crinkled in happiness, but as he looked at Arya, Gendry knew she had never seen Arya quite as happy as she laughed whenever he took a step to the wrong direction or spun her to the wrong direction as they almost stumbled into other dancing couples.

She was his, and he was hers.

 

* * *

 

**52 Moons after the Council Meeting : The Little Stag of Storm’s End**

 

* * *

 

 

In the distance, Gendry could hear bells. They were still far, but the deep rumble of the bells could still be heard.

Arya looked up at him, eyebrows rising in question, as she held their son to her chest. Gendry grinned at Arya gently, riding his horse a bit closer to Arya’s so she could hear him clearly.

“Couldn’t bring him home without a proper welcome. He deserves it.” Gendry knew his voice was almost corny in it’s gentleness as he looked at the baby who had just turned two moons.

Gendry still remembered the day Arya had returned from King’s Landing, where she had gone to see a specific maester; Gendry hadn’t known who, then, but it became quite clear as the same night as they were getting ready for bed, Arya had dropped the news; she was with a baby.

At first, Gendry had been somewhere between happy and horrified; he had always known he wanted a family and had talked about it with Arya, who also wanted to have children of her own, but the inevitability of Gendry becoming a father terrified him. He had never had a father, and because of that man he had been in danger more times than he cared to count; yet Gendry knew this was his moment to be the father he never got to have.

The next few moons went on by quickly – Gendry started to make plans to give some of his work and traveling to his advisors and Davos so he could be there for Arya, who had asked to give birth in Winterfell; even if Storm’s End had become her home because of Gendry, she wanted to be close to her roots and parents and siblings she had lost. Gendry had nothing against it, and three and a half moons ago they had travelled to the North on a carriage, now returning with the heir of Storm’s End, Sandor Baratheon, in their arms.

As soon as the news of lady of Storm’s End had spread, the people in Stormlands wouldn’t stop coming uninvited, lords explaining how they needed to talk to Gendry about something they had already decided on just for their lady wives to annoy Arya until she started to get prissy and wherever a visitor was coming, she holed up somewhere where nobody would get their hands on her growing belly or give her advice on the raising of a babe – it wasn’t like Arya was from a family of seven children.

When Gendry had sent a raven to his maester to start ringing the bells to alert the Stormlanders as soon as they saw Gendry and Arya approaching with their guards, he had gotten a response in just a few days, as the maester was overjoyed to be there to see the Baratheon family keep growing for another generation. It still made Gendry uncomfortable, knowing his son would grow up being watched from everywhere, defined by the blood running in his veins,

Yet as Gendry looked into the blue eyes of the boy with head full of dark brown, curly hair, he started to feel a bit better; he knew it would all be alright, as long as Arya stayed by his side.


End file.
